Hayfields
by Galaxy Little
Summary: This story follows a substitute psychiatrist, who bounces back and forth between many patients, in her misadventures with her childhood friend, Dr. Johnathan Crane. Based off of a dream I had. Batman belongs to DC comics.
1. What?

[Episode One::?]

I didn't know when he escaped, it just happened. The Riddler, or Edward Nygma, was always good at getting out of tough situations. I should know; I was occasionally his doctor. I wasn't there when he supposedly broke out because, as a small vacation, I had taken a train with my brother to northern Gotham, which was our family's hay farm. When I heard the news, I rushed outside to tell my brother, a detective.

"I see..." Was his only reply. Andy's the type of guy who's absent-minded and quiet, but very smart.

I sighed back, slightly turning and glancing over to him. His gaze was set on the hayfields of the property again. I tugged on his trench-coat's sleeve, urging him to come with me to the car. Although we barely talked anymore, he knew what I was getting at. Our father started the engine and we drove to the train station.

When Andy and I made it to central Gotham, we entered the large doors of Arkham Asylum, past the yellow police line, to speak with the Commissioner, James Gordon.

"Detective. Miss Fields," Gordon greeted Andy, then me. I'm never called 'Doctor' anymore. He continued, "I understand you were Riddler's part-time psychiatrist."

"Yes." I replied, "But I wouldn't know where he could've gone, if that's what your getting at."

"No clues?" He stared off into mid-space after I shook my head slightly, "That's unlike him..."

"Captured." Andy muttered.

"Captured?" I echoed.

"It...it _is_ possible..." Gordon exclaimed, "The power had gone out for a long time. Even the back-up generator was damaged."

"But who would _want_ Riddler?" I blurted out.

"Anyone dumb enough."

"Payback." My brother suggested.

"Fear." The well-known icy voice of Professor Crane sounded from behind. We turned to him, confused as to why someone would capture another out of fear, but he explained, "The correct term of 'payback' is 'fear'. Who ever captured him was clearly afraid of something Riddler possessed. Superior knowledge. Scientific skills. Even his technology could have set someone less academically talented off."

"That just sounds like envy." Gordon spoke, "How does that play with fear?"

"They're obviously some sort of criminal, trying to make it big in the world of villainy. Why else would they capture another criminal, especially one already in custody?" He took a sip of the coffee he was holding, as if this was all nothing to him, "They feared being looked down on by the citizens of Gotham as just a pesky fly. In response, they took one of the best, or in our cases the worst. There's no telling what they'd be doing to the _poor man_."

"Alright, enough with the sarcasm." I retorted semi-playfully, then tensed up, "How do you know it wasn't Joker? That guy has no reason for anything.""How should I know?" Johnathan spoke sharply as he walked toward the elevator, complaining secretively just before the doors closed on him, "_I'm not his doctor._"

"What's _his_ problem?" Gordon scoffed.

"He's always been like that." I replied. I knew how much he wanted to be Joker's doctor and pry inside his mind. I knew he felt angry that I had gotten him instead. Despite all that, he was still one of my friends.


	2. Nightmares

After we said our good-byes, I hailed a cab to my lowly house, dark an worn from years of hard weather conditions. Unlocking the door, I entered and latched it behind me, headed toward my shower room. I gathered materials for my bath, stopping to glance at my reflection in the full-body mirror.

If I said so myself, I wasn't that pretty. I had dusty brown hair, barely kept in good condition due to late hours at Arkham. My dark-circled eyes contrasted my bright green iris. Along with my thin, bony figure and light skin, my looks made me seem older than my age of 31 (although it did fit my country-style name, Abel).

I was glad I decided to take a bath, considering how filthy I looked. I'd have to get back to Arkham soon; it was now midnight and work was in 5 hours. So many patients had recently entered the asylum, and me being a substitute psychiatrist there didn't help my work, just made it a lot tougher. Too many names to remember, to many files to sort and keep record of, and not enough time to do anything. The fact that Riddler and Joker were missing didn't make a difference.

After drying myself off and pulling on my clean night gown, I readied for my 5-hour sleep. Sad thing is that it was cut short by a terrifying nightmare. In cold sweat, I frantically recalled the dream. Flashes of a mist that had an odd terrifying quality appeared before me. I could feel a hard-textured, light material almost like a fabric that was used to carry fruit or vegetable loads. There was also a sense that I could run, but I would eventually get caught, therefor it was useless. That terrified me. But that was it; there were no other memories on the subject. I took a deep breath to calm my mind. _'It was just a dream...'_ I chanted to myself, _'Just a dream...'_

I glanced at the time on the clock beside the bed. 2 hours 'till 5. I decided to get ready for work, slipping out from under the covers and shuffling over to my dresser. I replaced by nightgown with a white, long-sleeved polo and a taut business skirt. I pulled on my high-heels, not realizing that I had been shaking until I grabbed a pack a cigarettes and my lighter. Gasping, I rushed over to my cabinet, taking out my prescription medicine and swallowing the pill.

My nervosa was getting worse. The condition I had since childhood was terribly annoying. I sighed, pulling on my coat and continuing my journey outside for a smoke after my shaking had gone down. I lit the cigarette, inhaled it once, and put it out as soon as I had to leave. I called on a taxi I spotted quickly, payed the driver the fair at the end of the trip (which seemed oddly pricey) and trotted into Arkham asylum.


	3. Fear

I couldn't say I liked my job, but then again I didn't entirely hate it. Being a 'substitute psychiatrist' has it's qualities. For instance, helping people. Patients whose doctor is busy at the moment, disabled, or dead receive people like me to take their place for the time being. It gives them a chance to talk to other people, if they don't during recreational time, and see that more than one person can understand them. Usually, I had different patients every day. But, when they were there, Riddler, Joker, Mad Hatter, and Ventriloquist were constantly under my care. Their real psychiatrists/therapists were always busy with paperwork, so I had to fill in most of the time.

Now in the office, I swept my gaze over my desk, biting my bottom lip. The whole thing was so choked with stacks of file copies and paperwork, I could barely see the keyboard! Sighing in defeat, I shuffled through the stacks, organizing them into folders and piles, copying them onto computers, and throwing old news away. I shook my head, wondering how I kept my sanity with this job. I really wanted to apply for a full-time career as a psychiatrist. My college classes on weekends were almost up and by then I'd have a full scholarship in Psychology.

My eyes mind-numbingly trudged over each file and record sheet with zombie-like speed, not fully aware of the words each paper held. For reasons unknown, I stopped at a yellow notice sheet, immediately knowing it was recent as if by instinct. It read that a row of patients, previously recorded missing, were discovered cringing in fear. All three, before the event, had been showing signs of improvement, but when they were found they had suffered from the episode after being exposed to a chemical that increased fear the neurons in their brains.

At first, I could only think of Johnathan Crane, my old friend. Then I reminded myself that he was much more different than that. He's kind and thoughtful, reminding himself twice of any outcome. Plus, he's never shown interest int those patients. He respected people, although he could grow serious with his work sometimes. He just wasn't a person who would attack without reason. _'Plus, we're dealing with the insane here,'_ I thought, _'I've seen much more crazier than this.'_

I placed the paper aside for later investigation. The Commissioner would be all over this new situation. If not him, then my brother would, although he wouldn't tell me. I continued with my work, diligently passing by a half an hour with each stack. I slumped down in my chair when dawn appeared. My work never ends.


	4. Field of Crows

"Yes!" I squealed, jumping up from my computer desk. My college degree in Psychology was was complete. It had been two weeks since the incident with the 3 patients at Arkham, and winter was fast approaching. I blinked my computer off, rejoicing in my success. Soon, I would get to apply as a full-time psychiatrist at Arkham and that meant less work. I'd get to focus on only 3 to 5 patients at a time and although the paperwork might be a hassle, I wouldn't have to remember so many names. I pulled on a drawer in my desk and took out a thin file, revealing the application form for my dream-career and quickly filled it out.

Three hours later, I finished my task and decided to take a nap before work. As soon as I fell asleep, the recurring nightmare had come back again. But this time, the visions from the last time had intensified. The mist was more deadly, in fact it had gotten to the point where I almost choked, the fabric frightened me and caused me to drop it, and to top it all off I head a voice laughing at me as I ran from it. But the scariest thing that had happened was I suddenly stopped running; the voice was right behind me and I knew I was captured. Before I turned around to see who it was, I jerked awake. Shivering, I glanced at my clock as I did before, realizing that I had overslept. Not even my alarm had woken me up. I freaked because I knew I was late, and I rushed to get dressed.

I took notice of a trinket sitting on a table winking in the sun's ray that shown through the window. I then remembered it was the mini Jack-in-the-Box Joker had given me before he escaped, saying it was for 'good luck'. I didn't figure out how to use it yet. Turning the little lever didn't seem to work, nor did forcing the lid open. I shook my head and softly laughed under my breath, deciding to take the little thing with me. Who knows? He might not have lied this time.

At Arkham, I was even happier when application was approved on the spot. Apparently, they were looking for more full-time psychiatrists. I would start work first thing tomorrow. I couldn't wait to see the different patients I would get, or even who I'd keep. I'd have to tell Johnathan about the good news, as well as my family. They might not be so thrilled about it as my best friend would, but it's nice to brag about these sort of things. I made my way toward the elevator at the end of the hallway to travel downstairs.

My happiness had ended when I was walking down the hallway. I had spotted Johnathan, being chased down by at least 6 guards and 2 cops. I was pushed away by the mob, but turned to see that they had pinned him down about 10 feet off. I ran to the front of the collision to find my friend struggling under a cop's knee digging in his back. The other officer read him his rights, but only the rights given to those suspected of mental illness. I quickly recognized what the man was saying and gasped, kneeling in front of my friend.

"J-John...Johnny, what happened...!" I whispered, heavy with worry and still loud enough to hear over the cop's voice.

He didn't reply, just looked at me with either much regret or much hatred in his eyes. I kept staring at him, holding his gaze as the officers hand-cuffed him and lifted him to his feet. I still sat on the floor, facing the direction in which they left and turned the corner, dragging Johnathan away. Things just moved too fast...


	5. My Only Friend

I stood sullenly in front of Johnathan's new cell, looking through the small window in the door with the Commissioner standing next to me. He was placed in a straight jacket for assault on others as well as his patients. Sitting in the corner, he refused to return my gaze.

"...While in the lounge, he had attacked Dr. Strange, who was questioning his use for fear-based methods on his patients." Commissioner Gordon was saying, "He had apparently gotten to him because the Professor attempted murder on Strange with a deadly form of acid he created that was...investigated to be hazardous. It could literally scare you to death, much like the chemical found in the 3 patients who temporarily went missing. The police were called by Dr. Quinzel when she walked in on the scene. Guards, in the meantime, tried to apprehend him but were outran. During the investigation of his office to find out what he was planning with those chemicals...We found this..."

He handed me a burlap mask that made me hold my breath. It was the same material in my nightmare. The information Gordon gave me connected with the mist. It was the 'fear toxin' Johnathan had used against his patients. I continued to stare at him though the glass window, but more in fear and increased concern. Gordon took the mask from my hands.

"I understand that this is hard for you..." He muttered sympathetically, paused, then continued, "Dr. Arkham spoke to me earlier. Said to tell you that, if you want, you could be Crane's psychiatrist. If not, then-"

"I'll take it...take...I'll...take the job, that is." I cut him off, stuttering. John was my oldest friend. Heck, he was my ONLY friend. Even my brother was distrustful of me. The Commissioner nodded his head.

"I'll leave you alone, then." He walked off to speak with Dr. Strange.

I went over the information in my mind. Dr. Strange, knowing his curious ways, had probably gone too far with Johnathan. He figures out ways to get to you, using was he already knows and inferring why you do certain things. It can tick a person off; especially Johnny. He's even reminded me several times not to speak of or refer to the past. If I persisted, then he would get violent or just yell. I wished that Dr. Strange would quit being himself around him. My whole body shaking, I placed one hand on the glass of the window. Johnathan glanced at me, then turned around.

"Oh, Johnny..." I spoke quietly and refused to cry, "What has the world done to you...?"


	6. In Session

It was about the time Joker was re-captured and sent to Arkham that I started my sessions with Johnathan. Before I went to get my friend, I had to stop by Joker's room. I slammed open the door to his cell, marched over to him with my eyes blazing, and pulled out the small trinket he had given me.

"This..." My voice shook with frustration over the recent events, "This doesn't work,"

"Maybe because you didn't _use_ it." Joker smiled at me.

"You said this was for good luck." I sneered, "You LIED!"

He was about to say something but I started again, "The day I bring this, my only friend is declared insane!"

"...I thought _I_ was your friend." He tried to sound sad, "There somebody else, isn't there!"

"What ever." I dismissed the sarcasm and handed him the Jack-in-the-Box, "Take it back!"

"Nah-ah! No take-backsies!" He grinned, "You can still _see_ me, though!"

"Actually, Joker...No." I gave up, putting the trinket back in my pocket, "Dr. Harleen Quinzel will be your full-time psychiatrist from now on."

"..." For a second I thought I depressed him because he looked down at his feet, frowning, but then he glanced back up at me, "Is she hot?"

"Ugh..." I rolled my eyes and headed for the door, "Good BYE, Joker!"

"I'll take that as a yes!" He shouted after me before I slammed the door again.

I had no time for him now, I was late for my session with my friend. After taking a couple elevators and stopping by my office to gather up some files and my clipboard, I opened the cell door to Johnathan with two guards behind me.

"Let's go..." I murmured, extending my arm in case he needed help getting up or walking. He didn't and my hand fell back to it's side. On the way to the therapy room, he didn't speak to me at all. I was under the assumption that he detested me, but I couldn't figure out why.

"...Do you hate me?" I shocked myself when I blurted that question out as soon as we walked into the room, but the silence and tension was killing me.

"Not you." He spoke after a minute of deciding if it were safe or not to answer, "This place. These people. What they think of me."

"They're just trying to...stop you from hurting people." I said in a tone that wouldn't get him angry.

"That was only ONCE." Johnathan retorted, "And that bastard deserved it."

"But...Johnny-"

"Don't call me that. Especially not now. Yes, you were allowed to do that before, but for the sake of the future you shouldn't." He muttered softly, then silence.

"Wh-What...what do I call you?" I broke the quiet bond that choked me.

"...Scarecrow." He used a low voice, "That's what I want to be called. But only around other people and in front of cameras. Recordings are reserved for my real name; Dr. Strange tends to look at those."

"S...Scarecrow..." I echoed, testing the name out on my lips. I glanced over him, imagining calling him that, but I could bring myself to do so, "Why the specific name?"

"Various reasons." He turned toward the wall, acknowledging the fact that the guards were forced to wait outside of the room.

I nodded, accepting that as an answer. More silence followed and I flinched at it gnawing at my ears.

"I see this is awkward for you." I was surprised that he had spoken. He shook his head, slightly laughing at how odd the situation was, "I can only imagine what's going on through your head right now. I know you secluded yourself, meaning you fully recognized only me as a friend."

I raised my head, wondering what he was getting at. He picked up my message.

"I'm giving you a choice. No...no, I'm telling you." He leaned forward, "Get me out of your life. I may be able to tell you what's in store for me, but if you keep worrying about my safety and lingering around...you'll only get yourself in trouble. I'm going to say this once: Forget about me."

I tensed at his command, staring at my knees with memories and thoughts flooding over me. Then I glared at him and spoke surprisingly clearly, "No. Your my only friend. I care about you, I trust you. I may not fully understand your actions, but I know that I'm loyal to our friendship. Nothing will change that."

"Very well." He sat back in his chair, "Mark your words, Abel. There will be a time when you live up to them."

I didn't comprehend what he was referring to at the time, but I knew him. If I asked any questions, he would get frustrated with me and ignore me, so I kept quiet and let it slide.

"...Let's begin our session." I pulled a few files in from of me and breathed in. I honestly didn't know what to ask him.


	7. Scarecrow

Let's see...I believe it was about 8 months afterwards that I began to understand what Scarecrow had gotten at. With still no luck in finding Riddler, everyone continued their daily routines. I'd begin the day early with a therapy session with Scarecrow, which mainly consisted of awkward moments and hints toward his plotting, which I never grasped the idea of, then I'd send him off to the recreation room. During his time there, I would begin session with the Mad Hatter and next would spend some time observing group therapy sessions. After which, I would talk with Ventriloquist and sometimes also with his puppet, Scarface, who usually called me 'doll' (ironically). To wrap up the day, I'd type out my reports into the computer and leave for home.

I was just heading to my session with Ventriloquist when an explosion was heard that stopped me in my tracks. Next thing I knew, Scarecrow ran around the corner into the hallway I was in. Although he was wearing his mask, I could tell he was rolling his eyes as if I was the last person he wanted to see. He looked beside himself toward the sound of people yelling and coughing, then screaming. Mist crept in from the hallway he came through and, after glancing toward me, he rushed by grabbed my arm, roughly commanding me to hurry.

I didn't have time to think. Instinctively, I covered my mouth and nose, trying to keep up with Scarecrow. We paused suddenly when we got to the emergency exit. The door was blocked by mist and other people gathering around it. I could guess through squinted eyes that they were some of the inmates. Joker was among them because he was the only one laughing.

Scarecrow yelled for them to go, as if he planned for them to be there. He pushed me through the mist into the crowd and I could feel another man grab my shoulders and pull me along through the door and into a car outside. My vision, by then, had blurred drastically and I was out of breath coughing. I screamed and shook, watching everyone around me transform into frightening beings. The last person I saw clearly was Joker, who shoved a needle into my neck, releasing what I guess was medicine. As soon as he removed it, things were calming down and I suddenly felt tired.

"There." I heard the clown say before sleep brushed over me, "Twisted dreams, doc!"


	8. Mirth and Mayhem

I awoke, stiff in the muscles, lying on my side in the back seat of the car I was originally put into. By now it was night and I could see the passing lights glowing against Scarecrow's figure. He had been driving the car, but pulled into a dark alley way with a single red door at the end. As I struggled to get up, Scarecrow turned to face me. The terrifying mask was off and his frustrated facial expressions shown perfectly in the dim glow of a distant streetlight.

"Don't say I didn't warn you." He paused for a minute, shook his head, and grabbed his mask and a briefcase from the seat next to him. While pulling on the mask, he stepped out of the car. My curiosity got the better of me and, although I cringed at the pains in the muscles I moved, I found myself racing after him.

This time he barely gave notice of irritableness at my presence. I failed to keep up pace with him as I frantically spoke, "Jo-Scarecrow! What were you doing? Where are we?"

"Relax. It's just some business." He replied coolly, then pulled a dark velvet mouth covering out of his briefcase, throwing the object at me, "Put it on."

I hesitated, then I remembered that his sense of 'business' meant an attack with his fear toxin (as he told me through our many sessions), so I did as told. The fabric was tied around my mouth and had a thin air filter device inside of it.

"And Abel..." He turned, taking me by the arm, "What ever happens, don't say a thing."

I gave a curt nod, memories of the past beaming before my eyes. I pushed away the sense of crying and followed him through the doorway. The room was dimly lit and a metal table sat in the middle of it. Scarecrow motioned to a man, similar to a bodyguard, for him to bring up a chair for me. I politely sat down, ignoring the stares of other men (suggestive or otherwise). From a door opposite of the one we came through, a mobster had walked in. I recognized his face, but couldn't bring up his name. His gaze landed on me.

"Really?" He grinned as Scarecrow tensed, "Nice catch. Didn't think you were the kidnapping type."

"She's a friend. She chose to be here." His voice grew dark, to a point where even the guards flinched, "_Hurt her and see what happens._"

At this point, I was confused. Scarecrow didn't care for the choices I made, but when it came to other's choices, he was protective. It forced me to think about this for a little bit, causing me to loose train of the conversation. I finally remembered the tensity of the situation and came back to it.

"...And the guy never even recovered!" The mobster was saying. He had sat down in the chair on the other side of the table and continued, "I planned to get some information outta' him!"

"You simply told me to 'take the man out'." Scarecrow replied with utmost coldness in his voice, "You didn't specifically say how. My toxin does get information out of people, but apparently not the kind you were interested in, so you didn't specify _there_, either."

"It's not of your business what I want, the only thing you should care about is the pay!"

"Oh, thanks for reminding me." Scarecrow seemed amused at how he could play with the person's mind, "I want the pay to be doubled."

"Pfft," The mobster scoffed, "Your crazy. WHY should I double it if you can't complete a simple task?"

"As I recall, _you_ called _me_ in to eliminate that man because everyone else you hired got killed or wounded." Scarecrow toyed with his arguer, "If you don't like my services, then I can take my business elsewhere."

For a brief second, I wondered if they were mentioning Riddler. I straightened up to ask, but I didn't want to risk someone getting hurt over it so I slouched back down. The atmosphere was thick enough already.

"Maybe I should fix your head!" The mobster flashed a gun at Scarecrow and I jumped almost in defense for my friend, but he had other plans.

"I don't think so." He spoke threateningly, moved up from his seat and pushed away the direction of the gun with lightning speed, spraying fear toxin in the man's face, who instantly cringed and fell over.

"Oh, yeah." Scarecrow handed me a gun from his pocket as the bodyguards rushed to their boss' aid, "Almost forgot."

"What do I-!" Despite my shock, I handled the gun without dropping or shooting it accidentally. I thought I was about to use it when 3 of the guards attacked my friend, but with his toxin he had it under control. I suspected he gave me the weapon for my own protection instead of himself. When the room filled with the thick mist, I was thankful he had given me the mouth covering in the first place.

Scarecrow tugged on my arm and we quickly made it back to the car. I slipped the gun into my coat pocket after I climbed into the passenger seat and we drove away.

"You mind telling me what the HELL that was!" I yelled, my legs refusing to quit shaking.

"Just a minor set back; a disagreement at most." Scarecrow removed his mask and continued driving after pulling out of the alleyway, "Nothing to worry about. There are plenty of other ways to succeed."

After a short while of silence, something I longed for after the loud, terrifying meeting, he changed the subject. "It's late." He spoke softly, "Your probably hungry. Let's stop at a store-it'll be my treat."

His 'treat' was something other than a pleasant trip to the coffee shop. He barged in with me and basically robbed the place, throwing a couple packages of pound cake, sub sandwiches, and coffee at me (about a week's worth of food and drink). We immediately made back for the car and sped off. I didn't bother to question him this time. We then settled in a warehouse back lot and ate. As I bit into a sandwich, I didn't realize how starved I was.

I thought to myself, knowing that he knew better than to subject my mind to more trauma. I would later figure out that he wanted me to get use to it.


	9. First Impressions

It didn't take very long (just a couple of days) for the news to catch on. I glared at the TV screen in the shrewd abandoned warehouse Scarecrow and I had occupied. These people made it seem like I was a bad guy! After they identified me and displayed my full name, they contacted a so-called 'specialist' to diagnose me. He classified me as 'a girl who was never loved as a child and looked toward the arms of a madman.' All of that was untrue probabilities.

First of all, I loved my childhood; we lived on a hay farm as middle-class citizens. I had plenty friends, wonderful animals, a loving family, and vast land to keep me occupied (before my aunt took me and my brother in with her to live in central Gotham); nothing bad ever happened. Second, I didn't _run_ to Scarecrow's arms, I was looking to protect him! Third, that man isn't even areal psychiatrist if he didn't take the time to research me and understand my history. I punched the arm of the chair in frustration just as Scarecrow walked in.

"See what I mean?" He seemed to understand my anger, "Idiots, all of them! They can't handle the truth so they create a false reason to stop that truth. The sad thing is that the public actually believes this crap."

"Listen..." I clenched my jaw, "The only reason I'm with you is because I know you. Your the only true friend I have in the world. I'm not letting that go."

"Right..." He agreed with me in a tone that signaled me to go on.

"So..." I continued, "As long as I'm working with you, I wont give up an opportunity to help you. Mentally, as well; even if it means turning you in on the spot."

There was a pause and Scarecrow nodded in understanding, then turned toward the TV. After they said my name again, he flicked it off.

"You know..." He began, "We can't call you 'Abel' anymore..."

"What do you mean?" I asked. Again, he said I'd soon find out.


	10. Get It?

Despite the fact I was cautious about so many ex-inmates in the room, I was somewhat comfortable in my seat. Scarecrow and I had entered a secret underground cavern below and active warehouse. The place, contrary to it's location, was brightly lit and claimed a large, round table typically used to business meetings. Chairs surrounded the table and were filled with criminals, who softly chatted amongst themselves.

Scarecrow sat at the far end of the table (or at the front, depending on where you stood) with me of to the side of him. He explained that a crime boss' followers were to sit behind them, although I resented the idea. I only agreed to do so because I sensed he feared for my safety. I noticed a shortage of goons around the room. My wandering eyes had landed on Joker, who grinned at my noticing him. He seemed to have been staring at me this whole time as he immediately bounded over to my side.

"What's up, doc?" The clown sat on the floor next to me and giggled.

"You're the only one to ever call me that..." I scratched my head, "I'm bored."

"You seem oddly...comfortable." Joker looked off, "The last doctor I brought to work with me went 'round the bend!"

I flinched at his maniacal laughter, "Well, I'm not your doctor anymore. You know that. Also, as far as the public is concerned, I already _have_ gone insane."

"You never know unless you spend a day with me!" He grinned wildly, "How's Scarecrow treating you?"

"Protecting me, is all." I wondered if it was safe to talk to him, briefly acknowledging my friend's glare at the Joker.

"You should be _my_ little helper!" He jumped up to a squat, "I wouldn't _bore_ you like _him_!"

"Alright, that's enough." Scarecrow stopped him and pushed him away. Joker, while walking backwards, shouted over him.

"This is what I mean!" He yelped, "BOORING!"

While Scarecrow was taking care of (and by that, I mean arguing with) Joker, I was left alone and heard a soft voice behind me, "Hello, Miss Fields!" I turned to see Ventriloquist and his puppet.

"Hey, Arnold, Scarface." I replied coolly.

"Didn't expect to see _you_ here, doll." He made it seem like the puppet spoke, "Of all the people..."

"Yeah...I'm...kind of with Scarecrow."

"Really, now?" Scarface looked behind me to Scarecrow, the back, "Don't seem to be doin' much about ya. We could use a gal like you to distract some...unwanted attention."

"If you mean Batman, then that's _my_ job, puppet." A woman in a suit resembling a cat spoke, then turned to me, "So you can back off, girly."

"It's Abel." I tensed, "Have I...seen you before?"

"Perhaps on the news." She frowned, possibly annoyed by the fact that I didn't know her, "Catwoman."

"Back off, lady, I'm talkin' to her!" Scarface yelled in frustration.

"Who's the new girl?" I turned to see a man with half of his face burned, "Hey, we remember you...Your that woman Scarecrow wanted us to pull out of the smoke in the Asylum..."

"Eh...? Harvey Dent...?" I squinted my eyes in case I was wrong.

"Back, all of you!" Scarecrow shooed them all about 6 feet away.

I jumped at the sudden crack of gunshot (which took out a light), slightly ducking. Everyone trudged back to their seats. Scarecrow pressed on my shoulder, reassuring me that it was alright.

"Geez, it's like nobody can HEAR me!" I sat up, recognizing the man who had spoken at the very front of the room by the door.

"...Edward?" I asked softly, "Edward Nygma?"


	11. Voodoo

"Aaaalright, vultures..." Riddler waltzed around the room as he talked, "What did I miss?"

"The plan's in motion, Riddler." Scarecrow surprised me when he started, "You should've known that by the surroundings."

"Eun contraire," He pointed at Scarecrow with his cane, slightly cocking his head with a smirk, "I had to break the ice."

"So, green giant," Catwoman seemed bored, "How was your trip to the hayfields?"

"Well, you know, I did what I had to." Riddler slowly reached to where I was, "It's nice to be back and see old faces and-wait."

From the corner of my eye, I could see him flip the cane around, using the curved part to turn my head toward him. As soon as he grew more curious, he grabbed my jaw and examined my face further. Scarecrow was on the fence about his actions (he just kept staring) and the whole room seemed still.

"Miss Fields?" He finally spoke. Riddler had a tone as if he couldn't believe his eyes. He looked up when he heard a high-pitched laugh.

"THAT'S the doctor you were talking about!" I hadn't noticed the creepy man in the corner by the door.

"Yes." He turned to me with a confused look on his face, "Question is, what is she doing _here_?"

"That's not important." Scarecrow stood, still an inch shorter than Riddler, "She's part of the plan, now."

"I see..." Was his only reply.

So many questions I wanted to ask him; I couldn't even begin to start. What was Riddler doing in the hayfields? What happened to him, really? What was this plan they were mentioning? I knew it was useless for he'd only answer with questions.

"So she's also the girl who was on the news with Scarecrow?" Harvey Dent asked softly, then confused me when his voice switched to a slightly darker, blunt version, "What kind of a terrifying name is Abel?"

"True..." Riddler sat in an empty seat near me.

"Abel..." Scarecrow sat back down and got my attention, "If your going to stick with me, then you must change your name."

"What's the point?" I asked, staring at the floor, "I mean...they already know who I am."

"Ah!" Riddler smiled and stood back up, waltzing over to me, "The idea is not to show off, as you might think, but to prove something. You think I'd go around being called 'Edward' and expect something from someone? I call myself 'Riddler' because when you hear it, it makes you think of something confusing. Therefor, as a villain, people expect to be put in tough, problematic, tactical, and possibly _deadly_ situations. What if Joker went around being called-"

"Thank you, Riddler, I think she gets it." Scarecrow stopped him and he went back to his seat, "The point is, Abel, that it explains to people you persona and/or motives. Do you have any ideas?"

"I...don't..." I shook my head and continued to gaze at my feet.

"I say we throw out ideas and see which one is best." Penguin suggested, pleased at the fact that the others agreed.

At first the room was speechless as people thought, the Catwoman's voice rung, "What about Shadow? She follows Scarecrow around enough."

"Too vague." Scarecrow replied.

"Well, I'm sorry I'm not too serious of a villain, scratch-board." She sneered.

"What about Crane?" Penguin asked.

"...Are you serious?" Scarecrow scoffed.

"What? She _looks_ like you."

"I'm not too big on looks."

"Oh! Ooh, I got it!" The odd man in the back corner spoke again, "The Creep-_tress_!"

"Ok, she's not _your_ sidekick, Creeper." Scarecrow shook his head, "Anything else?"

"What about...'The Accomplice'?" Harvey Dent suggested, "It's short, simple, and we didn't have to flip a coin for it."

"We'll have to put that on hold, Two-Face." I marveled at the name Scarecrow used for Harvey.

"All of your ideas are dumb and poorly planned! Name her as you would name yourselves." Riddler stated, "She should be called 'Seamstress'. It's dark, considering her status, yet sweet at the same time."

"I'm still colling her 'doll'." Scarface growled.

"Tch, if you want her to be a stripper!" Catwoman struck up an argument with him.

"What about Harley Quinn?" Joker yelled over their bickering.

"Oh, save it for your girlfriend!" Penguin shouted back, starting another verbal fight.

"I never heard a 'no' to my suggestion." Riddler murmured to Scarecrow, who seemed grieved at the other arguments.

"Well, no." He replied quickly, then screamed at the others to shut up.

All the while, I was thinking. It must be related to my motives and personality. People must infer what I do because of it. I want to protect Scarecrow, and at almost any cost. I'm obedient, I keep secrets, I have the power as a psychiatrist to manipulate others, and I should be taken seriously. I knew what I wanted to be called.

"Voodoo." I mentioned as soon as the arguments died down a little.

"Wait, what?" About half the room asked.

"Speak up, hun, you aren't scary if you mumble." Joker smirked at me and gladly acknowledged Creeper's laugh afterwards.

"Voodoo." I nearly shouted to shut him up, then calmed back down, "Because, like the witchcraft, you don't _want_ to know what I could do to you."

"...Wow!" Riddler laughed after the room grew cold, "I like her!"

The room murmured agreement.

"You caught on pretty fast." Scarecrow was glad because of it and turned to the rest of the people, "All in favor of 'Voodoo'."

As the vote was unanimous, that was my last day as Abel.


	12. Smiles, Gotham

Scarecrow had given me two weeks of no violence after that meeting that changed my name (and basically my life as I knew it). Although he had gone out himself on crime sprees, everything had calmed down a little. His late arrival, basically into dawn, had become the norm to me. A couple times he came with scratches, but that was about it. The night before he agreed to take me to 'work' with him (you should know what that means by now), I had been sitting on the couch, the lamp beside me lit brightly. With my eyes intently fixed on my fabric-laced re-breather, I carefully stitched the dark exterior with the roll of white ribbon at my side. Scarecrow walked in, noticing my unbreakable gaze and repetitive pulling on the threaded needle.

"Need I ask anything?" He plainly spoke, breaking a piece of cookie off from the plate he was holding and munched on it, then sat beside me, "I really don't care much for sweets..."

I only replied with a faint grunt. My mouth mask was at an angle where he couldn't see the changes I was making. After he waited to see if I'd say anything more (or anything at all for that matter), he caved in curiosity.

"OK, what are you doing?" Perfect timing.

"I'm almost done..." I wrapped my task up by snapping off the excess string from the cloth, then held it up for him to see, "I stitched a smile in it. You know...to match my name."

"Eh...Did it have to be a smile?" Scarecrow traded the mask with the plate of cookies, an action that I wondered why I did in the first place, "Joker's going to be all over this..."

"All well," I traded back the items, "What's done is done."

"I'm not saying it's bad, Voodoo, I'm just saying that it's odd."

"Oh, iyour supportive/i." I teased him, causing us to laugh softly together.

I stood and brushed all of the stray threads that sprinkled my pants off of me and put the needle back in it's cushion, then sat back down. I looked back to Scarecrow, just just stared at the plate of cookies. I sighed and shook my head, grabbing the plate and eating both of the sweets. Scarecrow nodded as if he was thanking me. From what I know about him, he isn't the one to eat anything too sugary. I briefly wondered what he was doing with them in the first place as his voice interrupted my thoughts.

"I'm going out tomorrow..." Scarecrow muttered, "I'll be patching up and old relationship."

"...Zucco?" I asked, remembering the meeting with the mobster whose name I couldn't remember at first. He nodded slowly in agreement and I sneered, "Ugh...not that guy again..."

"He offered a satisfying amount of money and all I need to do is steal some things for him. Waste of my talents, if I said so myself..." He spoke rather blandly, "I know he isn't a major threat to the city, but it helps to gather anything that will help us get what we want. "

What we want. That was right, there was a plan going on that I had forgotten. I'm getting to that later. For then, I held my tongue because he still hadn't told me what it was, but I wondered if it was safe to ask or not in the first place.

"I'm coming with you." I finally spoke.

"I thought you wanted more time..." He replied, staring at me with slight surprise.

"Not when you keep going on these...late-night crime sprees." I looked straight at him, "Every night, I'm worrying and wondering when or iif/i you'll come back home. Besides, the guy was charged with first degree murder! A boy's parents, too, and in front of an entire crowd. Besides, you remember the last meeting we had!"

"Voodoo..." I fumed when he couldn't help but chuckle at my ranting, "You clearly ido/i need to come to work with me! You know nothing of the things I've done, seen, and even been subjected to while under the name of Scarecrow. In the crime business, if you kill just itwo/i people, then that means your terribly weak and not a serious threat. The death of only two people doesn't rake the whole city with fear, only reminds parents to tell their children to be extra careful."

"Then-" I stopped at a sudden thought, widening my eyes, my voice extremely stern, "iScarecrow, how many people have you killed...?/i"

"Ha! No, I don't kill people...That is, if they don't die of shock. In other words, I only torture them. The city has only just begun to notice. People, naturally, fear fear itself. My strategies are pretty easy to use, as well."

"Yeah..." I looked away, sighing with relief. At least he hadn't imeant/i to kill anybody, if he did at all.

"You do realize that you shouldn't fret over things like this. You need to get use to it...like at the Asylum. You had gotten use to all of the strange people and sick jokes, right?"

I clenched my fists, biting my bottom lip. I didn't want to see people die! That wasn't the same thing as understanding psychotics, as opposed to the Asylum!

"Hey. Don't worry, alright? As long as your with me, you most likely wont see anybody dead." Scarecrow told me, as means to calm me down.

"...I...I'm still going with you." I managed to say and glanced toward him. There was no way I was going to leave him alone with that guy.

"Of course." He then looked off past the TV and towards the pile of scrap metal and technology, labeled and organized chemicals contained in glass vials, and sheets of papers (used for notes) strewn out on the floor or over-lapping each other by hanging up on the walls. Scarecrow murmured, rather to himself than me, "I'm going to have to get you some more weapons..."


	13. Friday the 13th

The flat metal canisters felt cold against my arms. They were strapped to my wrists with a release wire attached to a ring on each of my middle fingers, so if I bent back either hand and aimed at someone, it would release Scarecrow's fear toxin. He had given me these contraptions himself; he already had them in his possession when he went out. The best part was that they were concealed from view as the sleeves of my jacket had covered the canisters and, with my palms facing downward, the release wires were hidden as well. Add that to the gun and the defense classes I had taken a while back (somewhere in college) and I was perfectly armed and protected.

Now in the car, and it being around midnight, we slowly drove to the desired location; the Ice Pick Club. I knew it from rumors only as I hadn't seen it in person. The bar was a hot spot for criminals, gang members, dangerous bikers, and so on. As Scarecrow pulled into the driveway, I could already see the amount of people inside. It almost looked like the place was packed! I stared at the entrance, sitting rigid in the car. I wasn't sure if I could trust being in a room with that many criminals.

"They're more afraid of me they anybody else, you know." Scarecrow picked up on what I was thinking, "Come on, let's get to work."

He slipped his mask on, as did I, and we crawled out of the car. My heart racing, I quickly caught up to his pace. Despite this, my breathing seemed rather normal for my first day out on the job. I fought to keep my legs from shaking, barely giving them any notice as I painfully succeeded. The next thing to happen struck me as odd. As soon as we entered the building, the once-loud, full-of-life bar grew still. I knew that my friend said that they were afraid of him, but I didn't expect it to be that quiet. All eyes were on us, except for the ones eating or drinking; they just stared at their food or beer bottles innocently after taking one glance. Tony Zucco sat at a table, normally used for poker, across from us, casually smoking a cigar with a glass of scotch in his other hand.

"Ah...Mr. Scarecrow." He rose his glass to him, leaning back in his chair comfortably, "Back again with your lovely companion?"

"Voodoo." I shocked even myself when I stood out from behind my friend, using the same coldness I did back at the recent meeting underground. I clenched my fists hard at my sides, making sure he saw, and slightly lifted my head up as a sign of confidence and defense.

"Now _that's_ a catch." Zucco smirked past the cold shiver I clearly gave him.

"Well, go on!" Someone near the mobster called out to the rest of the customers, most likely the bartender (as he wasn't drinking, smoking, or playing a game), "Get back to yourselves n' quit starin'. This' none o'yer business."

The rest of the bar slowly made it back to it's normalities as Scarecrow and I sat across the table from Tony. The two started to chat together about useless things; the weather, how finances were going, and the previous meeting we had, to which Scarecrow apologized and Zucco said he would have done the same thing. I could tell my friend was using a therapist tactic on the man, which was to start off with sweet, simple talk in order to get your patient, in this case a mobster, to work with you. As they drolled on, I had to use my re-breather because the scent of cigar smoke nearly killed me. Then I felt the conversation drawing to an end as they grew more secretive and leaned in to hear each other's voice. I leaned forward as well, but only picked up bits of what they were saying because the regulars in the bar were so loud.

"...so I need you to take...and it shouldn't be too hard..." Zucco was saying, the rest muffled, "...Here. This should help."

"Right." He was handed a folded sheet of paper and he slipped it into his coat pocket, "Yeah, I'll...and that way it'll be easier..."

Zucco mumbled a question, jerking his thumb in my direction.

"...?" Scarcrow asked something muted back, "...don't want to know what she can do."

Tony clearly questioned my ability to manage myself. His answer was what I had said at the underground meeting. To tell the truth, _I _didn't even know what I could or would do. All I remembered was my self defense classes, and that's about it. I knew that I'd use it to defend myself, but would I end up killing someone if it meant protection? Or would I sacrifice myself for the good of my only friend? Only time would tell, and time was playing hard-to-get.

Just then, the meeting drew to a close. The two criminals shook hands and Scarecrow and I left. I noticed the inside had gotten louder as soon as we exited and made our way for the car. I closed the door after me and buckled up. My friend sat next to me and fired up the engine. He noticed that I had started to shake again, vigorously, upon what I thought was realization that we had just gotten out of a nest of criminals alive.

"You did wonderfully, Voodoo." Scarecrow attempted comfort, "You even surprised _me_ when you spoke out like that."

"Yeah...? Well..." I slipped the mouth covering off of my jaw and taking in a deep breath, "What did he want us to steal?"

"Well, let's see..." He pulled out the sheet of paper that was given to him, after removing his mask, and opened it up, reading with a monotone voice, "M60 machine gun, ceramic switchblade, computer components..."

"Lazy mobster..." I sneered and acted like I was game for anything, "What is this, a grocery list?"

"Not quite...He wants us to steal a Lamborghini for some reason-"

"A _what_! Isn't he suppose to be a...a rich crime boss or something? Can't he buy it o-or steal it himself!" I freaked, only making my shaking worse.

"You have to understand that all crime bosses, mainly mobsters, just pull the strings and stay low." Once again, he tried to sooth my attitude.

"_Really_ low." I muttered, suddenly feeling a strange pang that I had forgotten something, "What ever...let's just leave..."

Then it hit me. I had forgotten my pills for my condition. The shaking wasn't after-shock of the meeting at all! I slightly jumped in my seat, a move that I regretted instantly. My heart throbbed rapidly, every limb shaking. The strange thing was that Scarecrow didn't react like I thought he would. No, he seemed like he planned this. The last thing I remembered was the car still speeding off to what ever location he was planning on visiting, one hand on the staring wheel and the other catching my head as I collapsed in my seat, then slowly lowering me down onto the armrest. My vision blacked out as my nervosa had caught up with me.


	14. Paradox

When I woke up, all I could feel was a couch lying under me. My first thought was that I had blacked out during the whole theft and that Scarecrow and I were back at the hideout. But then I noticed something; this couch was much larger as my whole body could fit on it. It was also more stiff, unlike the plush couch I was use to, and smelled like it had been washed thoroughly. Blinking my eyes open, it was also a shade of green and the lights where I was were bright, almost like a hospital. Thinking that we had been captured, I jumped up on the couch in a squat position, quickly pulling out the handgun I was given and aiming straight across from me at an invisible enemy. I swallowed hard, looking around the considerably large room.

The building I was in had as many lights as a grocery store, although the walls and floor were made of a gray, smooth-surfaced stone. Most of the place was all wires and computers, the rest was neatly stacked cardboard boxes and wooden crates, all with labels. Directly in front of me (or below, depending on perspective) was an all-glass coffee table, covered with newspapers. A green binder, labeled "Records", sat next to the pile. I could guess this person was scrap-booking on recent major events. Where ever I was, this person sure loved to keep clean and tidy. Figuring out that this wasn't a public place or a police station of some sorts, I murmured a question to myself about where I was.

"Use context clues; _that_ should help." A voice, that wasn't my own, answered back. I flipped around, gripping the backboard of the couch with my free hand so I didn't fall backwards. I froze at the tall shape of the Riddler staring back at me, sans his mask, about 10 feet off. He seemed amused with my confusion.

"Riddler?" I lowered my gun, "What are _you _doing here?"

"Now how can you ask _that_ when you don't even know what _you're_ doing here?" He didn't give me time to answer back, "A better question would be to ask why _you're_ here. Hm...Come to think of it, it isn't smart to ask _any_ questions; at least in this type of situation."

"You always expect me to infer..." I gave a slight smirk, concealing my weapon and standing up from to couch.

"Well, you're a smart girl. Not as exceptionally bright as _I_ am, but you're not most people."

"Let's see..." I began to walk around the couch, toward him, slowly, "The labels and technology cluttering the room would have answered it, had it not been for what has happened to me in the past couple of hours. Although, the fact that you're here...I think it's safe to give away the answer...at any rate, by now."

"And what is that?" Riddler tilted his head to the side.

"Hm..." I took on last look around, stopping a few feet in front of him, "This is your hideout?"

"Oh, no, I've been figured out." He used a bland voice, displaying sarcasm, "What ever shall I do?"

"Pfft." I smirked, then faded out of the moment and lightly glared at him, "So...why _am _I here? What happened to Scarecrow?"

"...I've been thinking about redecorating." Riddler looked about the room, then spun around with his arms extended, "How about a new polish? And some more furniture?"

"Ugh!" I grunted in frustration, rolling my eyes, "This is my _friend _I'm talking about! Can't you, for once, be _straight_ with me?"

"We can watch TV while we work, if you want." He acted like he didn't hear me and trotted off, "I'll go get dressed into some old clothes."

I sighed and wondered what to do about this cunning man. I can never seen to really get him. Was he just planning on using me for labor? It seemed both reasonable and illiterate. Reasonable being, he's got a slightly large schedule and another worker doubles the speed. Believe it or not, it's not because he looks weak; he can press, at most, 150 lbs. That's good for someone of his physical stature. Although, that was beside the point. I wondered if Scarecrow dropped me off because of this 'help around the house', which was illiterate because he wouldn't do that. Not for something so random.

Riddler came back with actual _normal_ clothes; overalls and, guess what, a green t-shirt. Not use to this, I couldn't help but stare. The most ordinary things I've seen him in before was the complementary outfits at Arkham. And let me tell you this – orange is _not _his color.

"I was hoping we'd start with the boxes." He placed one hand on a cardboard packing box and the other on his hip, eying me expectantly.

"Ugh...Whatever." It's not really worth it arguing with him. I felt that eventually, he'd tell me the answers to my questions. He wouldn't be the one to delay this long if something bad had happened. I threw my jacket over the back of the couch and pulled off my flats. I figured that I'd help him anyways.

I glanced at the tall stacks of boxes that reached up to about 12 feet high, all hidden in a darker corner. The stacks covered about a third of the room. How the heck did he plan for us to clean all of this up! As an added note, what did he _have_ in all of these things? I didn't know he was looking at me until he spoke.

"Only the _brightest_ see _highest._" Riddler looked back up at the boxes, or rather, right above them.

"What?" I tried to see what he was staring at, but just couldn't point it out.

"The closer you look, the further away the answer is." He laughed softly, "This should be _too_ easy; child's play, bird-brain."

"Hey!" I shot him a glare. Was that a reference to my partner! I thought I was done hearing people poke fun at his name! Damn, he irritated me! I continued to glower at him, my eyes burning with scorn at his recent endeavors, as he hopped up on a box and escalated the stacks. I mean, I liked him and all; he was fairly level-headed and mildly eccentric, despite his ego. Then again, what man, save select few, _doesn't_ have an ego? What got to me the most was his ADHD-like conversation line. _I'm_ not as smart as him, and _he_ needs to get over that! My frustrated thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a large metal claw rearing it's ugly head right by a light, hovering above the boxes. Of course. A crane.

"You've got to be..." I face-palmed. The metal claw was hidden just beyond the light and the glare prevented me from spotting it in the first place, with the help of the boxes blocking out the rest of it. The answer was too easy. I just didn't see it.


	15. Query

So there I was, helping out the legendary Riddler in his home/hideout, mainly to pass the time (I feel _so accomplished_). We sorted through boxes, with me manning the crane mostly, both throwing out old 'junk' and alphabetizing crates, as well as justifying them in specific order. All the while, Riddler would try to help make seem time move quicker by, of course, entertaining us both with riddles. Things like...

"What is up, but also down?" Riddler spoke as he waled past me, carrying a small box of trinkets. Surely enough, he used a bland voice as if he were a parent reading off flashcards.

"I don't know..." I paused while sorting out books to answer, "A depressed bird?"

"Ha! Good answer, but no." Obviously, the only time he gained liveliness in his voice was when he had to correct me on an answer, "It's a pole."

"Makes sense." I replied after laughing a little. I wasn't as worried about Scarecrow at this point; my ex-patient seemed to have dropped hints about my friend's whereabouts. I don't remember specific details, but what I gathered from context clues was that he had completed the list we received from Zucco and was possibly with Joker.

After we had gone though the boxes and crates, I wondered; now that we were done, how exactly did he plan on getting new furniture, like he said when we had started? Was he going to steal some? Then again, he _is_ a criminal, so I couldn't see any other possible solutions. I mean, what do _you_ think when a convict tells you he's going to get some new items? Theft. Exactly.

I dropped myself onto the couch, expecting the next words that would come out of Riddler's mouth to be either, 'Stay here, I'll be right back.' or 'Let's go, I have a plan!' He was likely to say anything, so I wasn't surprised that I hadn't expected his statement.

"After we relax, we should go to Costco. I hear they're having a sale." Riddler sat on the other side of the couch, glancing toward the remote on the coffee table.

"What...?" I stared at him, extremely confused, "Did you _quit_ being 'The Riddler' or something?"

"On the contrary!" He snapped back, possibly because I had said something wrong, and pointed at me, "Not all villains _steal_. Besides, and you might want to use your _brain_ for this one, _Batman _is_ smart. _If I just went about thieving furniture, he could learn that I'm _living_ somewhere, instead of just laying low in some underground building and whatnot. And where does that leave me if he actually _finds_ me? Back at Arkham with those _mindless twits_ who think they're smarter and more cunning than _myself_."

"Well _excuse_ _me _for not being a trained, masked criminal for so very long!" I didn't exactly know what tone he was using with me. Was it egotistical and discriminating of other's intellect or just plain irritation because I wasn't knowledgeable when it came to stuff like this? Either way, he sounded frustrated, so I tried to contradict him with my own anger.

"What?" He seemed worried, glanced around, then looked back at me, "Was it something I said?"

"Ugh..." I face-palmed again, "You were just _pretending_?"

"Where have _you_ been?" Riddler smirked, using a direct reference to the fact that I use to be his therapist. Therefore, he made a point by saying that I should have known him by then. He had tended to trick me into thinking he was angry or even sad at times, but then acted like something was wrong or he was just told a joke when I tried to help him.

"Hm." I huffed, then spoke after my tension settled down, "So what now?"

"Well..." He picked the remote up off of the table, aimed it randomly into nowhere, and clicked a button. And then that's what surprised me; the TV. The back of it turned out to be one of the large tiles in the floor, across from the table. It flipped around and rose up slowly, like a vampire waking from it's coffin, to face us.

"Woah." I was dazed and marveled this feature. He had bragged about his inventions and gadgets during sessions at Arkham, but I had never seen them before.

Riddler clicked again to flick on the TV, immediately playing some form of craft-making series. He then freaked, almost dropping the remote, and turned the channel. He paused to look at me, blaming Tivo for everything, all the while I couldn't help but snicker. I expected that he would enjoy something like crafts or knitting (just intuition, I suppose).

After we had spent the full 2-hours watching Cold Case, with added commentary via Riddler, we had gotten ready to leave for the town. Of course, I had to make some..._minor_ changes to my facial appearance. I was allowed to use some makeup and a pair of reading glasses, which barely magnified things because it was weak. Riddler also spared some clothes; fortunately, my size — unfortunately, men's style. The long-sleeved sweater overhung my hands, but at least I had no trouble with the pants. I guess he outgrew them or something.

"Alright!" Riddler came back wearing a black vest-jacket and a pretty thick sweater. Winter _had_ been nearing then. Of course, this didn't stop him from wearing the light jeans he had. To top it all off, he threw his hair into a ponytail. I swear, he refuses to cut it.

We both made out way for the back doors leading to a confined garage. As it turned out, his car was a tan pickup truck, and looked like it had been used and run-down. I questioned him on this, and all he said was, "Why not?"

The ride to Costco was short, but long. I kept thinking to myself how Scarecrow was holding up. Sure, I had hope, but what's a girl to do? Any questions I had would be dismissed immediately. Then my thoughts had moved onto society and if anyone would recognize me. In fact, the only tie to the world outside the villains was the news channel, which made me seem like some sort of monster. So, I figured that the rest of Gotham felt the same. And if they recognized either of us, there would be hell. At that point, I knew I had to avoid them at all costs.

When Riddler and I arrived at the supermarket, the place was bustling with people. Wondering what time it was, I figured out it was 5:00 pm; one of Gotham's popular rush-hours for the stores. I immediately hit the defensive, desiring to protect myself from the possibly overzealous crowd. They could hail cops behind my back if I wasn't ready. Riddler placed his hand on my shoulder, attempting to calm me. He didn't say anything, but I got the message. I made it seem as though I was at ease as we neared the doors, although I kept my guard up.

Riddler flashed a membership ID card toward the stand-by guard, who in turn, barely glanced at it, and only waved his hand for us to continue on. I sighed, readying myself, and followed closely next to Riddler. If anything went wrong, he'd had a plan, and I sure as hell wouldn't want to get left behind.

"I was thinking about buying myself a new office chair. Maybe an end-table or two, and some new stools for the kitchen..." Riddler sort of dazed off, trotting from one direction to another, and then settled on an aisle. Dear _lord_, have you ever _been_ in there! There's a freaking aisle of _grand pianos, _on _display_, and a blow-up _fun-house_ as well! It's like Central-Gotham's-Megamall-huge!

Oh, sorry. Getting off topic. Well, to save you the boring parts, I'll skip a couple events. At the check-out line, we had a chair, a small table, and 3 kitchen stools. Each one on a roller, ready to go. We passed by an old lady, who, upon my path, stopped abruptly and accidentally dropped some of the things she was carrying. As a normal human response, I was tempted to help her out. Although, then again, I was with _The__ Riddler_. He was an ex-patient of mine and is knowledgeable of my actions, so he would claim me as a weakling if I performed such a civil act. So, to prove him wrong, I ignored the woman merely as an act of showing off.

"You know, I have no idea how you plan to pay for all of this," I was speaking to him, although I continued to stare ahead toward the registers, "Do you use cash or have membership credits or...what?...E-Edward?"

When I hadn't heard his reply, just the store's busy sounds, I turned my head slightly only to fall into a double-take. The guy was finishing up, about eight feet back, helping the lady out with her items. Since a stack of baskets were placed conveniently near them, he handed her one with all of the items placed inside. The old woman thanked him and both of them walked off. Riddler glowered at me as he pushed the roller toward the register. All this did was leave me stumped, thinking, _'Alright, what the hell did I do __this__ time?'_

At the car, Riddler was unloading the furniture into the back, and strapping them down with cable-cords. He had ultimately quit talking to me for that time being, no matter how much I questioned him, Although, he let me back into the truck, which was nice. I really thought he was going to leave met there. As we left, he finally decided to say something.

"Next time, act as if you would have treated them 5 weeks ago." Riddler didn't so much as glance toward me.

"Why?" I, however, stared at him with confusion, "I thought we were suppose to..."

"Ignore them?" Riddler figured out what I was going to say, "I understand that you wish to stay true and protect Jonathan, but realize who _his_ enemies are before you target all of _society._"

"But..." I stopped, and thought. Scarecrow's enemies. I've known him since Highschool; the only enemies he's had were bullies and people who could care less about their underlings. Really, he's a protector – just a little too violent for the city's comprehension. I felt like I was hit with a brick when I realized that he wasn't always targeting the whole city.

"In conclusion," Riddler spoke more calmly, possibly assuming I got the point, "Criminals don't always play the bad guy."

"We aren't all heartless..." I muttered to myself. That was the day I fully got what villains were all about.


	16. Conundrum

I woke up the next morning, comfortable and well-slept, getting the full blast of a warm aroma as if I was in a restaurant kitchen. I sat up, rubbing my eyes, and wondered where the smell was coming from. During my tired thinking, I turned to get off of the couch, but stopped when my feet touched something fuzzy. I literally jumped backward and off of the couch because _Joker_ was sleeping _right there_ on the floor! Although, it was somewhat funny, because I thought his head was an odd, soft plant. Or a rug.

To my surprise, the clown didn't even wake up – I heard him merely yawn and roll over. Even after the yelp noise I made upon figuring out it was him. Even after the loud thump that was heard when I fell over the back of the couch. Still, nothing past the usual noises of sleep. I finally stood up when Riddler walked in, asking if I was alright.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm ok, but...since_ when the hell_ was _he_ invited?" I immediately jerked my hand in the direction where he was laying.

"Joker?" Riddler shrugged, walking back into the room he cam from, "He comes and goes as he pleases."

"...It just keeps getting weirder and weirder." I shook my head, giving the 'intruder' one last glance, before following Riddler. He had gone into a narrow space between a wall and a large fence of boxes; an area I've neglected to notice before. It was dark for a minute or two, walking down that cramped hallway, and I could barely see my feet. Then I reached a doorway to my right that led to what looked like a normal house kitchen, but without windows. It was pretty warm, and from the looks of it, Riddler was finished making breakfast.

Oddly enough, there was enough food made for five really hungry people. I figured it might have been made mostly for Joker, or someone else was expected to arrive. Riddler, while placing the food onto some plates, pointed out that I needed to wash my hands, and by the time I came back, he was already eating. Another crazy fact; the man eats enough food to count for 2 meals. I know. My reaction was the same as yours.

"Uh...R-Riddler, you're...uhh..." It was like my mind broke, "H-how...can you...?"

"What?" He stopped eating to listen to me.

"Alright, how can you eat so much?"

"How can _you_ eat so _little?_"

"Th...," I had to stop and think about that for a second, "That doesn't answer my question!"

"I have an extremely high metabolism." He took a bite, as if the conversation was over.

"No bulimia? Anorexia?" I sat across from him at the table.

"...No." He just stared at me, "Besides, this is my biggest meal of the day. We all answer to something; it takes up our time, our days, our life."

"A...," I couldn't think of an answer for a while.

"You know, you can eat?" He motioned toward the plates full of food in the middle of the table.

"Oh, yeah...," I nodded, grabbing an empty plate, "Thank you."

"Yes, it's a _magical_ ability we humans contain, I'm glad I could remind you."

"Here we go with the sarcasm...," I figured out what the answer was to the thing he mentioned earlier, about answering to something. It's a schedule; somewhere along the lines during that day, I figured out what he has to go through almost all the time as a villain. The morning is his free-time, then he spends two hours on the computer, gets visitors after that (usually Joker), chases after said visitor because they feel the need to tick him off, searches the whole building for specific things, either deals with more visitors or takes a nap, plots his next move in Gotham by dinner time, then goes by said plot, and repeat (if he wasn't thrown back into Arkham).

–

After breakfast, we sat in the TV room (that's what I called it at the time) and watched the loacl news channel. Joker was half-asleep because his eyes were slightly open and he was making slow and tired jokes about the weather man and news reporters, but still lay on the floor. By 10 o' clock, the commercial break was interrupted by a sudden news flash. A female news-anchor appeared on screen with a tiny picture in a square next to her of a burning building.

"_This just in, exclusively on Channel 5 News, Gotham City's Natural Science Center has been terrorized; first, robbed of a full case of dangerous toxins, and then lit aflame. The culprit in the investigation has been identified as, none other than, 'The Scarecrow' – or Jonathan Crane – who has been responsible for Arkham Asylum's great breakout just a month ago. Nobody at the Center, however, has been severely injured during the time. Gotham P.D. Are still on the lookout for this dangerous criminal and advise citizens within city limits to be on red alert. Any information leading to his capture will be greatly appreciated; if you happen to have any, please contact the number below, and thank you for your time."_

I sighed with relief, outstretching my arms upward, and whispered a victorious 'Yes'. He was alright! Not captured by police, obviously not hackled by mobsters, nothing. By now, Joker was sitting up, yawning and muttering something about a potato.

"Voodoo," Riddler stood up and faced me, muting the television much to Joker's dislike, "What do you take every day, that makes the bad things go away? It is many, but all in one, what do you take with the day has begun?"

"U-Uhh...," What the hell did that have to do with what just happened in the news? I looked off in thought, "I don't know...Vitamins? Pills?"

"Think harder."

"Um...," My mind flipped; I completely forgot about my nervosa medication! Why do I always forget things so easily? He must've known that I remembered because he, once again, slid into a smirk.

"You've forgotten, that is true," Riddler pulled out the pill bottle from his pocket, "But _I_ have it right here for you."

"You're enjoying yourself, aren't you?" I smiled back, grabbing the bottle and swallowing a pill immediately, "Thank you."

"I don't get it..." Joker glared at the floor, possibly upset that there wasn't a punchline involved.

"I don't want you _jittering_ for what we have to complete." Riddler walked off to open a crate.

"Which is...?" I stood up as well.

"Sending out...," He reached in and lifted up that question-mark cane of his, "A _message._"

"To who?"

"I suggest you get ready." He set aside the weapon to gather up other items as well, "We leave at 12:00 pm, sharp."

I was about to ask why, but then I realized that the things he was getting out of the crate were the supplies for his villain persona. We were getting ready to go out an commit a crime in broad daylight. From my knowledge, that's when the legend vigilante Batman never shows up. If there was one thing I knew about Riddler, it would be that you could question him, and he might answer, but if he was dressed in his alter ego uniform, it was best that you don't ask him anything. Usually, if you did and he didn't take an interest in you like the detectives, well...let's just say you'll never ask him about anything he does ever again. Without another word, I stood up and ran around the couch to pick up my original clothes and mask, as it was almost 11:30 am. I raced back around, searching for my shoes, when Joker stopped me.

"Oh, _Voodoo~_," He still sat on the floor, grinning up at me, "Do you still have that little_ present_ I gave you?"

"Present?" I temporarily forgot what he was referring to, but still searched my pockets.

"Yes, the _good luck charm?_"

"Th – oh!" I both recalled what it was and pulled it out of my coat pcoket; the mini Jack-in-the-box he gave me a while back, "You _do realize_ that I have _no idea_ what this is for?"

"Oh, you silly numb-skull," Joker teased, "It;s for when you find your self 'tied up', 'in a pickle', etc, etc."

"Alright...But how-" Riddler had interrupted me by telling me to hurry from a different room, as we had 15 minutes left. I shouted back to reassure him that I was almost done, of course I didn't know where he went. I assumed he went back to the room he had left to earlier, twice, to change into something different. It was a space in between the far back wall behind the couch and the large stacks of boxes, much like the hallway to the kitchen.

Speaking of the hallway, that seems like the best place to change without the presence of a guy. I trotted off to said area, picking up my flats along the way. The second I got there, I tore off the clothes I was given and replaced them with my own white polo and black pants, including my dark brow jacket. I knew that by flats, which were a dark red, had clashed with the rest of my attire, but I didn't think of it as important and slipped the on anyways. I waltzed out, tying my mask around my mouth.

Riddler was already finished with his costume, and apparently had been for a while now, and he was casually sitting and chatting with Joker. He turned his head to face me and stood up, sending the clown away so he wasn't in his house anymore (I didn't think he'd trust him alone). Joker waved goodbye and left to the garage. Perhaps he drove himself there? I don't know, he never talks about driving a car or anything similar.

"Are you ready?" Riddler grinned with that confident stance of his.

"Ready as I'll ever be." I replied, smiling behind my mask, "Any idea where we're going?"

"Well," He glanced upward and paused. I knew he couldn't resist giving me another brain-teaser, "What has four wings, blue collars, and never leaves the north?"

"...A...uhh..." I stuttered. This was honestly confusing. It only took a couple seconds for me to crack, "I-I have no clue..."

"Ha!" Riddler tried not to scoff, to which he failed, as he led me past the garage to the lower chambers, "It's the city's Technical Institute."

"GTI?" I tilted my head, climbing onto the platform that served as an elevator. He didn't respond and just pressed a button on his cane that lowered us down to the area below ground.

The chambers seemed much larger than the actual hideout, and was much more green. Said green light came from the computers, monitors, and a large generator – even some pulsing wires. The room itself was really dim. While I was still dazed, wondering how in the heck Gotham wasn't blacked out because of the amount of electricity usage, the Riddler waltzed around the tangled, tech-savvy mess to another room. I realized he left and ran in the direction he had gone, tripping over a coupled wired along the way. He was only two feet in front of me by the time I caught up with him, almost disconnecting another wire, when he quickly turned and shot me a glare. Still, he said nothing, and dragged me into the dark room. He flipped on the lights so I didn't trip again, although I slightly gasped at the site instead. Inside was a landing area for his helicopter. _Just how many rooms does his place have!_

–

We arrived at the GTI building near the northernmost point in Gotham. Sure enough, blue-collar-workers-in-training scrambled around the area, which was separated into four 'wings'. 12:35 pm – and apparently classes were over for a bit as the young adults were headed to their cars. Perhaps it was lunchtime or an early release day. Who knows, just as long as I could avoid a hostage situation. Riddler circled the place, acting as a regular helicopter patrolman, then landed when everybody cleared out 10 minutes later. Then a thought crossed my mind as we entered the building through the stairway on the roof.

"How do you know if no one else is inside?" I muttered to the intellectual villain, making sure my voice didn't echo too much in the stairwell. After all, we didn't certainly have x-ray vision, and we were peering down from bird's-eye-view.

"That's the trick," Riddler grinned, picking a door 3 floors from the roof, "We couldn't send a message quick enough if no one was here to call the police. There's always one teacher or official that stays behind the longest. _Trust me._"

"Alright." I eyed him curiously, but agreed and continued to follow him anyways. I was glad he wasn't the one to kill innocent people (just the ones who he claims 'wronged' him).

The both of us eventually came across a lonesome room, calm and solitary, where a professor sat, scribbling away at a stack of papers. I could see just into the room past the man's desk; a table in the back that held a small, solar-powered turbine placed next to some electric tools (clearly for class demonstrations). I assumed that's what we were going to steal, because it didn't look like it was attached to anything. Riddler seemed a little too confident in his choices. It's like he was given directions to the room and was happy that the person who gave it to him actually remembered the way there. I briefly wondered if he use to attend this college or something.

He then turned to lean back against the wall next to the door so he wasn't seen. I was already in a position where the man behind the desk couldn't detect me. Riddler whispered, "_Alright, my little witchcraft doll. You're going to sneak in and hold the man down while I confuse him in order to leave behind our message. Then you'll rough him up so I can-_"

"_What?_" I whispered in a tone that made it seem like quiet yelling, _"I can't do that! You kidding me? I'm horrible at sneak-attacks! Sure, I can be quiet, but..."_

"_You can't-? Oh, that's right."_ Riddler still whispered, confused at first, but then just nodded, _"Sorry, I'm just use to Scarecrow's tactics..."_

"_Oh?_" I knew Scarecrow had teamed up with someone a few times before since he broke out of Arkham, but I didn't think it'd be Riddler. The two just didn't seem to share many qualities, but I guess opposites attract. Then again, they weren't really opposites, "_Well, now what? I've never really done this, y'know._"

"_Hmm...,_" He pondered, _"Alright! I've got it!"_

"Ooh...I hope I'm not late for my first day!" I called out in a squeaky voice the second I walked into the classroom. I set down a pile of random books, all of which I found, atop a desk, making sure that my head was turned away from the professor. My heart raced with adrenaline as the man replied.

"Miss, it's lunch hour. Students don't come back for another half-hour." I could tell from the creaking in the chair that he was trying to get a look at my face.

"_What?"_I shuttered, pretending to cry by burying my face in my hands and sniffling, "God, I'm such a looser!"

"A- H-Hey, don't _cry_! What's wrong, did I say something _bad_?" The teacher quickly got up and walked over to me, "Are you alright?"

"Oh...," I shook my head, still pretend-sobbing, in my hands, "You're really sweet, but..."

"..._But?_" He questioned after I hesitated.

"That's making me feel bad for having to do _**this**_!" I immediately pulled out my pistol from my pocket, backing up a bit so I could fully extend my arm out and hold the barrel at point-blank range against his forehead. I found myself grinning when I gazed at his terrified expression. I should have been disappointed in myself for taking pleasure in that moment, but he was just so intimidated! No one had been scared of me in a long time. Not since high school. It felt kinda good to have someone to frighten.

"Woah!" His hands went up, showing he wasn't looking for a fight, as he eyed my mask, "Wh-B-Y-You're...!"

"Busy, professor." Riddler laughed as he waltzed in, _"Very_ busy. I believe you've met my lovely friend, Voodoo._"_

"Wh-who? W-What do you want?" He swallowed hard, shifting his eyesight from me to Riddler. It was apparent that he was one to keep up with the news, because he certainly recognized the both of us very quickly; no one displays fear this quickly if they have no idea who the criminal/person is. I should know, for a certain someone boasts about it all the time.

"Riddle me this, my dear patron," Riddler threw his arm around my shoulders, leaning over a bit to look at the man from my height, "What experiment do you have for us today?"

"I...," The professor glanced to the side, in the direction of the back table that held the small turbine, "Th-that's just a-a class project..."

"Hm." Riddler's grin widened, "Then you wouldn't mind?"

"N-N-Not at all! J-Just take it an leave...I wont say a word!" The man closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in order to calm himself.

"Oh, now...," The clad-green villain tilted his head, straightening himself, "Where's the fun in _that?_"

He walked off in the direction of the turbine, tapping my shoulder in doing so. Right then I lowered the gun, taking the professor by surprise as I slammed him down onto a desk and sprayed him in the face with Scarecrow's fear gas. He immediately began screaming, rolling himself onto the hard floor. As I heard Riddler rush to the door, signaling our leave, I bent down and leaned over the man, bringing him toward my face as I picked him up by his shirt collar.

"My regards to Scarecrow." I still grinned behind my mask, letting the man fall to the floor in agonizing torture. Riddler and I left immediately, knowing that we could hear cars pulling up into the driveway. It wouldn't be long for the police to be called, but by then we were gone.


End file.
